


Liaison

by paperdollkisses



Series: L.I.E.S. [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Clint, BAMF Phil, M/M, Slow Build, hearing impaired Clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:18:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2276334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperdollkisses/pseuds/paperdollkisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton, Master Tactician and Sniper is damn good at his job. SHIELD approves of most of the ends if not all of the means and he's happy with that and his life. Until he realizes there might be something he's missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a work in progress. I hate posting it as such, but it will motivate me to keep on writing.

The tones coming from the passageway speakers didn’t echo off the reinforced walls of the helicarrier. Something Clint was eternally grateful for even if he was wearing the specialized muffled hearing aids. His hearing was screwed up enough as it was, thank you very much, and the concussion had just increased the ringing in his ears that he normally lived with. He was headed toward his quarters to wash off the grime of a week spent living in a muggy, dirty climate with no facilities to speak of and the only water they had was either vital to drink or leech filled mud holes. The funk of forty thousand years was an understatement when it came to describing how the team smelled, fortunately nose blindness was a thing.

A double tone warning made him slow his gait and there were suddenly a lot of bodies in the corridor moving quickly towards the helideck. Three doctors pushed through as a triple tone sounded and Clint sighed inwardly and turned to move with the push of traffic. Triple tone was bad, a team was coming in hot and someone was hurt badly. There was no question of him being there to help, he’d been a triple tone arrival more times than he cared to count. 

Once on the helideck he went where the deck captain pointed him. Pulling down straps and securement devices. Clint heard snatches of conversation as he moved, the hearing aids hindering his hearing with so much noise.

“... three shot.”

“automatic rifles…”

“... one in half”

“Riley and Simms…. Coulson.”

“HAWK! Heads up.” Clint looked toward that voice. Agent Jenkins was standing in the bay with his bow case and quiver. “They’re coming in with a possible tail. Go up!” 

Clint nodded and caught the case as it was tossed to him, then took the quiver fixing it over his shoulder before unlatching the snaps and doing the same with the recurve. He quickly climbed the rigging on the walls to the next deck and slipped into one of the snipers nests there. He saw the quinjet coming in, wheels down, landing speed. No sense of a threat noted in the pilots ascent, but with a well trained pilot there wouldn’t be. He changed out his hearing aid as he tracked the craft behind the quinjet. Nonaggressive. 

“What’s the status on the Chopper? Friend or Foe?” he was thankful for the advanced technology of the inset comm unit that made him able to be hear and to heard.

“Aircraft MH-6 Bird, call sign zero-one-niner. Thought to be enemy aircraft. Unable to make contact with Quin-14 to be sure, only distress signal available.”

Clint shook his head. “Quin-14 looks to be at ease, Sir. At least from a battle standpoint. So does the Bird.”

“Eyes on target, zero-one niner is not to land on this carrier. Communication being sent. Shoot down target if necessary.”

 

“Sir, yes sir.” Clint narrowed his eyes, but nocked an explosive arrow. He’d seen enough enemy aircraft to know when there was a threat. Sure, they could be playing along to get on the carrier but his gut was telling him otherwise. It didn’t help that the agent on comms was a relatively new senior with something to prove.

“Belay that order, Hawkeye. Aircraft call sign zero-one-niner has free pass for landing. Copy?” Agent Sitwell’s voice cut through the other agent’s sputtering.

“Sir, yes sir, Agent Sitwell.” he released the tension on the string “Cover needed for disembarkation, sir?” 

“None anticipated but maintain position for now. Cover both aircraft if you will.” there was a double tap to the comm unit.

Clint frowned. If that was from Sitwell it meant that something was up. He waited quietly. Quin-14 landed and there was the double tap again. So, not the extra aircraft then. He changed his arrow to broadhead and pulled back on the bowstring. A shot in the midst of the chaos going on down there was going to be tricky, even for him. Then there was the other thought, who would be stupid enough to try something in the midst of all those SHIELD agents. 

One gurney was rushed out of the quinjet, wheels jumping over the uneven surface as it was pushed along by medical personnel and agents alike. A second stretcher exited the aircraft, even less smoothly because of the additional weight on it. One of the doctors straddling the body doing CPR while a second was straddling the legs, holding pressure on the hip area. The third was simply a black bag carried by loops at each corner by four men in tac suits. Followed by the other passengers, men and women looking exhausted and beaten. A varied array of injuries to be cared for. It wasn’t until now though, this moment that Hawkeye’s heartbeat ratcheted up a notch. His breath caught for a second with anticipation. 

It was a collection of small tells, really. Most SHIELD agents had them trained out of them for the most part. The vague not-rightness of eyes flitting back and forth, movement hesitant as the man decided which way to walk, Clint shook his head and thought, ‘really?’ 

“Blonde... twitchy… oddly padded torso. Could be a bomb.” he murmured.

“Affirmative, contain only. It’s ok if he bleeds, we think he’s the one that got Riley.” Sitwell’s voice carried an undertone of anger.

Clint used the touchdown of the helicopter to his advantage. The loud deceleration of the massive machine covered the thunk of his arrow through the targets hand and into the Quinjet as well as the screaming man as he was walked away from the scene by two agents that were none too gentle about it. 

“Thank you, Hawkeye. Dismissed. Downtime approved until tomorrow 0830, debrief conference room 6.” 

“Sir, yes sir.” 

The chopper was disembarking now. A man and woman in field gear and a man in civilian wear, blood streaked up the front of his white dress shirt and the rolled up cuffs. Clint watched as Sitwell walked across the tarmac and was saluted by the agents before reaching out to warmly clasp the mans hand and elbow in greeting. Jasper’s smile wide and out of place in the still sober scene of the deck. They walked side by side into the main passageway and out of sight. Clint rolled his neck and took one more look around before he put away his weapon and took advantage of his downtime.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my beta Rea! You're the best.

As always, debrief was boring. He’d electronically filed his after action report the night before instead of waiting until this morning; early in his career he had learned that doing the paperwork first made him resent it less than if he had to drag himself out of bed early to finish it up-- not that Clint had slept in. His sore muscles and bruised brain had needed food and hydration. So he had showered, dressed, slid his hearing aids in, and walked to the mess to fill up before wandering to conference room 6. 

Once there, he sat and recounted his story to the main handler for the mission and two analysts who made notes on their notebooks. It was mostly just regurgitation of the AAR with brief stops for questions on one point or another. At the end, he read the notes, making additions if necessary and applied his pinky print signature to the screen before being dismissed. 

“SA Sitwell would like you to stop by his office, Barton.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Barton closed the door behind him, nodding in greeting to the next agent waiting for his turn at debrief before turning toward the stairwell. Three flights of stairs and a rap on the door later he was sitting in the rather uncomfortable straight back chairs sitting in front of Sitwell’s desk.

 

“Barton, I want to thank you for being so quick with the AAR regarding the incident on the tarmac. I apologize for the lack of information preceding it but you don’t expect the enemy to impersonate one of us and then be stupid enough to hitch a ride on a bird where everyone knows each other.” he shook his head as if despairing of criminals these days.

Clint grinned; Sitwell was one of his favorite SA’s. “It’s all good, sir, sometimes you just gotta just point me and say shoot. Get it all sorted out then?”

Sitwell’s face darkened. “Yes. Didn’t take much in the way of interrogation to get the info we wanted. He was responsible for killing Agent Riley but it was just a fluke that he and his team stumbled on the strike team in the first place. He took advantage and made the milk run into a murder scene. Simms is still in critical from that bastard. Another team left last night and easily picked up the rest of his crew. They’re all being shipped over to the Company for further interrogation and prosecution.”

“But, they…”

The SA nodded. “Yes, they shit in our sandbox but the Director wants to play footsie for a bit because we just stole one of their lead operatives.” A satisfied smirk graced the round face. “He thinks it’s good for business. I’m not sure the CIA realizes what they’ve lost.” he flipped the laptop screen around and then flat allowing Clint to see the AAR. “Anyway, I just wanted to give you an update, see if you had anything to add.” 

“No, sir.” Clint reached over and pulled the computer towards him, skimming the additions before pressing his finger on the screen. 

“All right then, per medical you have a repeat CT and auditory test this morning and based on those results you will have a downtime of anywhere from 3 days to a week.” The screen was flipped back up to laptop mode again. “Stay out of trouble.” 

Clint snorted “Sir, yes sir.” and left the office to head to medical.

After being cleared by medical for range time (“with earmuffs even without your hearing aids, Barton”) and light exercise (“no getting kicked in the head by Romanoff, Barton… and wear headgear.”) Clint went to check out his bow and quiver. Despite the short interlude with his bow on the helideck it had been over a week since he’d had her in his hands. He signed out the ear muffs, even though he wasn’t on the gun range, just to provide a little sensory deprivation to maybe help with the lingering headache. 

Nodding briefly at the junior agent and trainer working with throwing knives he moved quickly toward the lanes put together especially for him. Well, not _specifically_ for him, he allowed. But, he was the only one who used the bow range with any regularity or degree of accuracy. Except for the crossbow fanatics-- and while he could best anyone in SHIELD with those too, he preferred the draw and release of his recurve.

The soreness eased as he warmed up, letting him enjoy the pull of his arm and back muscles as he nocked an arrow and drew it back until the edge of his thumb brushed his cheek. He held there for a long minute feeling the tightness of the bowstring before he focussed on the target and loosed the arrow, mouth curving up at the edges as it struck home in the center of the bullseye. Taking a deep breath he pulled out another arrow and the game was on. After the fourth target filled with concentric circles Clint lowered the bow once the final arrow embedded itself. He felt good, his muscles were pleasantly tired, the sweat was cooling on his arms and shoulders, his ears had stopped ringing so badly, and his headache was gone. It took very little time to gather up his arrows and relocate to the cleaning room.

He was idly twirling an arrow through the fingers of his left hand as his bow ran calibrations when the door opened and Sitwell walked in with the guy from the helicopter.

“You really didn’t have to show me up by beating my scores on the range during your competency check off, asshole.” Jasper slapped the man he was walking with on the shoulder.

Clint watched as the edge of the mans mouth ticked up just slightly before allowing himself to continue with the assessment. Strong jaw, crooked nose, blue eyes with grooves at the edges that pulled all the features together into a pleasant expression. At first glance, pure bureaucrat. Uninteresting, if the observer wasn’t paying attention. Looking closer he could see a ragged scar on the man’s chin, the nose was crooked because it had been broken a few times, and the callouses on his right hand were consistent with the gun he was carrying.

“It wasn’t a check off, Jas. It was one gun and I can’t help it that you need to put in more range time.” His mouth ticked up again, his eyes taking in the room. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement to Clint.

“Asshole.” Sitwell muttered, eyes meeting Clint’s. “Hey, Coulson. Meet our favorite sniper Clint Barton, codename Hawkeye. Clint, this is Phil Coulson. Our new Level 7 SA. You’ll be working with him at some point.”

The arrow stopped twirling and Clint reached out his right hand. “Good to meet you, sir.” 

Phil gripped his hand and Clint added ‘strong grip’ to the mental catalog that he named Coulson. “You too, Barton. I’ve heard a lot about your expertise from Jasper and the Director. I look forward to seeing your work.” His eyes drifted down to the bow on the table as it emitted a double beep. “That’s a beauty.”

Clint’s grin widened. “Yes, sir. It’s got the best specs available. R&D keeps me hooked up.”

That lip twitch again. “Good to know SHIELD has a progressive R&D department. Not that the Director would have it any other way.”

“Nope, that’s a high priority necessity.” Jasper gave Phil a look as he pronounced every syllable in the last word. 

Coulson’s eyebrow rose and Clint could see the amusement in his eyes this time. His gaze fell to the mans hands as he field stripped the Glock. 

Another adjective, ‘competent’, to add to the list Clint thought as he lay his bow gently in its case. A flip of the clasps and one final twirl of the arrow before it found its home in the quiver and he picked both up to carry to the weapons master. 

“I’ve got a date with some mystery meatloaf, so I will say goodbye, sirs. Looking forward to working with you Agent Coulson. Sitwell.”

Both men nodded in acknowledgment and as the door closed Clint heard Jasper say “Coulson, the mess here sucks just as bad as the other alphabets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Company: Nickname for the CIA.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peripheral character death from a bomb. Apparently I like bombs.

It was a weird few months that followed. Milk runs after milk runs, nothing unexpected and the lack of drama was making Hawkeye twitchy. He finished his annual recerts in record time, the highlight of the whole set being a lecture by Coulson on unconventional weaponry. Clint had used his fair share of odds and ends lying around to incapacitate, maim, or kill his opponents but a chance to see a still unknown entity made it much more interesting than the usual suspects. Coulson’s laid back attitude led the audience to underestimate him; and it was amusing to hear the exclamations of surprise at the way Coulson shifted from pleasantly bland instruction to precise and lethally focused demonstration as he explained things to the class. Clint acknowledged to himself that he might have a competence kink, but nonetheless the man in the well cut suit was someone worth watching regardless of ulterior motives.

The night of the raid on a suspected AIM front, however, Clint had a feeling that boring was going to become far too exciting. The intel they had was damning enough that it would be no problem justifying taking out the target, but sitting in and listening to the briefing was painful. Despite the analysts supposedly having all aspects of the mission covered, it had the earmarks of a shitstorm waiting to happen. 

One of Clint’s specialties, no, one of _Hawkeye’s_ specialties was seeing things at a distance. 

When it was his turn to offer input he did, reaching for the remote to run the security tapes again. “This is…” he shook his head and ran the video back a little, pointing to the building, “This building seems too small for the amount of people and items we are seeing come out of it. We’re missing something.” He fast forwarded, “The streets are emptier than they should be. One truck, a sedan and two vans; only one of which has moved during the entire 24 hours this stream represents.”

Almost everyone leaned forward at his last words as he pressed the button under his thumb twice. “I don’t suppose we have more time to look into this?” he turned his head towards the SA in charge.

SA Hendricks shook his head minutely. “We’ve already pushed the timeline back and we’re going to lose this guy and the info if we don’t get our asses in the field.” His stylus tapped the edge of his tablet. “Thoughts?”

Clint leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. “Two teams of four agents each for first approach. Three hitters, one hacker in each one; just in case the tech is blocked from Ramirez.” Looking at the other agents around the table, gaze landing on Sitwell and seeing the slight nod. “Third team of two or three as back up. Sitwell, are you home or away for this?” 

“Away. Coulson was going to listen in from here and I think we can put him on home with a junior. He’s got a lot of field experience and reads situations well. I know none of you have worked an op with him before but I can vouch for him, he can get things moving if we need him to. I can read him in while we’re in transit.” He tapped out a quick email while he was talking. “I’m approving the team changes. Ramirez, pick 2 of your friends with field training. I’m keeping you as primary. Hendricks, you’re going to need to pull in the alternates.” he gave Hendricks an apologetic look before continuing to fill in mission details.

In the end, they had a primary plan and two or three back up plans and Clint felt marginally better about the situation. He didn’t have a problem with the operatives he was going to work with the trouble was he didn’t have faith in a lot of the analysts at SHIELD and things could and usually would go bad quickly.

The anticipated clusterfuck was spectacular in its execution. Underground tunnels had allowed about 15 more heavily armed ‘associates’ to be present when the first team breached the building. Not to mention a shitload of other people. By the time the second team was in, there were only two left of team A. Despite the agents being out of commission, the two remaining agents were sending through information on what they had found when entering the building while team B had started to take out the enemy without triggering the alarms.

As expected, Ramirez hadn’t been able to get through to the servers until his hackers had located the main access point. Once in he worked through the information he found. His work made easier by the other two being plugged in to help him search. Hendricks logged updates from the agents taking down the goons inside and immobilizing those without weapons.

Muffled cursing over the comm caused Hawkeye to adjust his gaze to sweep over the front of the building he was watching. There were too few windows to give him a clear sightline at what was going on. Thermal imaging wasn’t giving too much of an assist either because of a special lining in the walls.

“Report.” Sitwell barked over the comm, his first interaction since the second team had gone in.

There was a smallish crash followed by a groan “Sorry, sir. Um, remember that guy that got on the helicarrier with the bomb a couple of weeks ago.” at the affirmative he continued. “Well, I’ve got a whole room of the bombs in here.” the agent sounded a little jittery, understandable under the circumstances.”

“Are we certain they are the same?” Jasper pulled up the stats on the jacket in question.

“They look the same, but I can’t be sure.”

Clint switched to main comm. “Ramirez, can you download the specs from that bomb jacket to the portable scanner Wilson and Ratt have on them? They should be able to tell if it’s the same composition.”

“Yeah, pulling it up now. How do you know these things, Hawk?” Ramirez asked.

“I spend a lot of time in R&D looking at all the toys. Wilson, you and Ratt have to decide who’s getting close enough to scan. I see Team C pulling out wounded now, medics in route.” Clint could imagine the furious game of rock, paper, scissors going on in that vault at the moment.

“Ratt, taking one for the team, sirs.” the man in question sounded resigned. “I’ve just got notification that the scanner is ready. Moving to the walls to validate now.”

“All extraneous personnel exit now, escorting our new guests if you will. Hawkeye, accessing file on disposal of…”

Sitwell’s comment was cut off by a deafening explosion and they all watched as part of the building imploded even as people were filing through the door. Out of the corner of his eye Clint saw one of the enemy start running and sent a shot through her knee to bring her down. He watched as she went down a small black box falling from her hand to the ground.

“Hostile hit, something fell from her hand. She may have triggered…” Clint swallowed hard to keep the acid in his stomach where it belonged. The screams and curses still rang through his head and he wished, not for the first time in one of these situations, that he could just turn the hearing aids off.

“Coulson, we need extra resources here for evac. Medical, guard, fucking cages for these assholes. Local demo crew to search for… ” Sitwell paused as he listened to Hawkeye. “Barton did a headcount. At least four of our own were inside, the injured crew already evacuated. Unknown how many hostiles left inside. One, possibly the trigger finger, taken down with non-lethal shot by Barton.” he typed furiously on his tablet. “Will forward final numbers as able. “Damn it all to hell.” he muttered on a deep sigh. “Signing off for now.” he clicked off transmission at Coulson’s acknowledgement. Barton, maintain position for now. I want to know if there is a hair going to be out of place before it happens.”

“Copy that, sir.” his eyes continued to scan the area.


	4. Chapter 4

Before the dust had a chance to settle the search and rescue team arrived for briefing. The carrier had landed to pick up the uninjured primaries and a med carrier took on the wounded. Hendricks stayed behind to orchestrate the SaR, something all SA’s were required to do, but no one looked forward to. As the carriers took off he gave a half hearted salute before turning to the lead SaR agent to continue the briefing. 

It was this transit time that Hawkeye hated the most. The trip toward a mission was full of coordination and briefings and the urge to just _do_ something already. The trip back was usually a cross of exhaustion and adrenaline crashes. Tempers were short when a mission went FUBAR usually due to a triple threat: confined spaces, a bad energy drop, and the feeling of helplessness. The resulting demoralization was not pretty, and even less so when it was happening to trained agents. 

Some of the operatives had collapsed in the carrier seats. The rest were scattered through the carrier doing anything physical that was acceptable in combined company. There was a reason that there was downtime post mission. Adrenaline fueled workouts created almost as many minor injuries as the mission itself and after mission sex-- well that caused some injuries as well, hopefully under more enjoyable circumstances.

Ramirez was working through the data they’d retrieved while Sitwell was on a secure transmission with the Director, Coulson, and Hill. Clint had finished his pushups and was on pull-up number 42 when Sitwell called him over. He released his grips on the hand straps and walked toward the SA and Ramirez. 

“Barton, we know that the woman who pulled the detonation device was dressed in a lab coat but did you see where she got the device?”

“No sir, I saw the movement out of the corner of my eye. It was dumb luck that I saw it at all. The immediate people around her were other people in lab coats or Franks, Howard and Stone. It was a black box…” he shrugged “Did we get it in evidence?”

“Probably.” Sitwell narrowed his eyes at something that flashed across the screen. He shut the top with a snap. “Fury wants to meet with you when we land, better get some rest.”

Clint gave him a rueful grin “I’d better wear myself out to deal with that.” 

Sitwell gave a short laugh. “I’m sure the director would love to hear it.”

Five long hours later Clint had gotten rid of the worst of the electric zings and flashes of ‘I could have’ that plagued him and had a nap. With his meeting with the Director in mind he took the metal stairwell up to his quarters after a longing look toward the corridor that led to the training rooms. In quick order he showered and shaved, pulled on SHIELD issued and stamped sweats and shoved his feet into his sneakers. He was almost out the door when he turned on his heel and grabbed his ID badge and tablet. It was 100% probable that this meeting was about the mission so it would be good to be prepared. 

Despite the fact that he’d hurried, or perhaps because of that, he was left cooling his heels in the anteroom of the Director’s office for a good half hour. The first half of his AAR was completed by the time the assistant buzzed him in.

“Agent Barton.” Fury looked up but didn’t stand as Clint walked through the door. “Coulson, you’ve met Barton, right?”

“Briefly, sir.” Coulson did stand, offering his hand and receiving a firm shake in return. 

When both men were sitting Fury sat back, arms crossed. “I’m sorry to break into your downtime, Agent. I need to ask for your debrief now. “

“I don’t have my after action completed…” he started.

Fury tilted his head “Just run us through it, Agent. You can do the paperwork later.” 

Clint nodded and put his tablet down on the desk in front of him. The debrief was long, with very pointed questions about things. Coulson had activated a recording device but was making notes. When Fury started in on the individual agents on the team Clint looked at him for a long moment.

“Can you tell me what is going on, sir?” 

Fury leaned forward and steepled his fingers “There’s not enough information at this time to even put together a hypothesis, Barton. Hopefully, the information we get from you and some of the rest of the team will help fill a few holes.”

“Understood.” Clint’s stomach growled then “Think we can put away the shovels until I can carb load?” he grinned at the twitch of Coulson’s mouth. “I mean, I’m sure even you get hungry, Director.”

“Unfortunately, Barton. The rumors are true. Late at night I insert a specially made plug into my eye socket and recharge. However, I do know how to fake it ‘til I make it. If you’d be so inclined we can order food and continue the debrief. We need to go through and analyze the information before the next interview.”

The next few hours were a blur of takeout, evaluations and looking at encryptions that didn’t make sense to Clint’s tired eyes. Fury okayed a secured file transfer onto his tablet so that he could at least look at it in private once he had rested and could think again. After promising to notify them if he found anything, Clint was allowed to leave. He dropped his stuff off in his quarters and made his way to the range again, too twitchy to think about laying down. His usual routine when he couldn’t sleep was to exhaust himself with his bow, something he was grateful to fall in to now.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint’s arm was shaking by the time he stopped, fingertips numb when he pressed them together. He rolled his neck and shoulders to stretch them out and ease the overtaxed muscles.

“Very impressive, Agent Barton.” 

Clint’s mouth shaped into a smirk as he looked over at the man leaning against the wall. “Thank you, sir. It’s my superpower.” It wasn’t like he didn’t already know he was impressive, after all. He just didn’t flaunt it as much as the junior agents did; he figured the rumors about him didn’t need any help. The edges of Coulson’s eyes crinkled in amusement, and Clint had always been a sucker for blue eyes; male or female. On impulse, he let his own eyes linger take in the smooth lines of the well cut suit the older agent was wearing; by the time his gaze had returned to the man’s face Coulson’s mouth was ticked up at the edge, eyebrow quirked inquiringly. “Sorry, nice… suit.” He knew he was treading over dangerous ground at the moment. Dealing with new agents in an alphabet world could be a little tricky and Coulson was an unknown.

“I guess you could say it’s _my_ superpower.” The smile lines at the side of Coulson’s mouth deepened.

“Oh, I can tell you and I are going to be friends.” Clint’s smirk turned into a genuine smile as he turned to push the button to recall the targets. “How are you enjoying SHIELD?”

“It’s all the Director promised.” Coulson came up beside Clint to study the impact patterns. “A pumpkin face?”

Clint shrugged. “I was getting tired and lost my artistic instinct,” he quipped as he pulled the arrows out of jack-o-lantern formation.

“So, how long does it take you to break down your gear?” 

“In the field less than 3 minutes. Here, well I have to clean and calibrate so about 30 minutes. I don’t usually let the weapons master mess with her, unless I’m damaged in medical.” 

Coulson nodded “Would you be interested in grabbing something to eat after you finish with her and get cleaned up? Or are you still full from before?”

Clint laughed, “I am starved, playing with my girl always works up an appetite. What are we talking? Chinese? Pizza?”

“I was thinking Indian. I need a little bit of spice.”

“Indian it is.” He quivered the arrows. “An hour?”

“That’s perfect. I’ll drop some stuff off at my office and then change. Meet you at the front desk?” 

He picked up his quiver and bow, “Yeah, sounds like a date.” Clint watched Coulson as he said it and didn’t see anything uncomfortable in the other man's demeanor-- not that he had meant it that way, it was just a turn of phrase. Coulson seemed to take it at face value, nodding and turning to walk out of the range while Clint went to the cleaning room to start breaking down his equipment.

Just shy of an hour later he exited the stairwell having taken some care with his appearance in that his denim button down was tucked into his jeans and he was wearing a belt that kind of matched his boots. He was as put together as he got but his breath stuttered a little as he got a glimpse of Coulson. Dressed for work, he cut a fine figure but casual wear-- well, that was another level altogether. The leather jacket was unexpected, as were the grey henley, jeans and sneakers. Granted, he hadn’t seen much of the man prior to this morning so he wasn’t an expert.

“Ready to go? I thought we’d try out 5th Element. Jasper gave me a list of local restaurants and I’ve been working my way through them.” he turned toward the doors, putting on his sunglasses as they walked through them.

“Oh, 5th Element is amazing. The kebabs are melt in your mouth tender and they have a spicy Naan that is sooooo good.” Clint moaned “Plus, it’s called Bullet Naan. Kind of perfect, right?”

Coulson laughed, “Yes, kind of perfect.” he held up a hand to hail a cab, said as Clint looked at him inquiringly, “No use in taking a car when there’s Indian beer to try out.” 

Clint kept the conversation going for the trip to the restaurant. They settled in to the booth and ordered samosas, pakora and imported beer.

“Phil.” Coulson said as Clint used his surname for the third time and he grinned at Clint’s look of confusion. “My first name is Phil, Clint.”

“Ok, Phil.” Clint stressed the name “What’s your entree going to be? I’m going to hit up the kebabs.” He hummed thoughtfully. “Probably the mixed platter.”

“Well, Clint.” Phil put the same stress on his name with a small laugh at the end. I’m going to have the mixed tandoor. We want a side of the Bullet Naan, right?”

Clint motioned for the waitress “Yes, yes we do. Shall we try the Singha this time and oh, you definitely want to try the Gulab here. That is the one defining factor that can make or break a good Indian restaurant.”

“Is that the defining factor? I thought it was whether you could have your tongue burned off without your face melting.” 

“Ha, you’re funny, Phil. Have to admit though, the samosas were perfection.”

Phil nodded. “As good as the ones I got in Hyderabad,” and the conversation took off from there, talking about different cultural food favorites and debating the merits of expensive versus cheap versus hole in the wall. It lasted all the way through the main entrees and dessert. Both of them were pleasantly buzzed but not drunk as they split up the bill and grabbed a cab back towards the base. They said goodbye on the elevator, a handshake that lingered with Phil’s thumb trailing along Clint’s wrist and thumb. 

“Thanks for making restaurant experimentation interesting.” There was that expression Clint was growing very fond of, the crinkle of Phil’s eyes with the little sideways twitch of his mouth in that almost-suppressed smile.

“Hey, we should try Vietnamese next. There should be one on Jasper’s list.” Clint put his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting waiting for the answer.

“I’ll take a look and get back to you with some choices.” Phil stepped out of the elevator.

“See you later, Phil.” he said giving him a wave and a smile.

“Later, Clint.”

Clint was sure his own smile was a little on the goofy side as the doors slid closed. He made it to his room and closed the door, allowing it to grow for a minute before taking a breath settling in to do some before bed file reviews.


	6. Chapter 6

The deserts of Utah were beautiful but Clint could think of other places he wanted to be as the sun beamed down on him through his sniper hide. At last count, those other places equalled forty and were only the ones within this continent. “Forty One! I just thought of another place. It’s nearby too. Vegas, just as hot but with amenities, Jasper. Amenities!” Clint wiped a sweaty forearm over his equally sweaty forehead spreading the red sand even more.

“Barton.” Jasper sighed and shook his head as he rubbed a towel over his head. “You know what, I can’t even say anything. You’re sweating your ass off out there, I’m sweating my ass off in this shack. We only have a few more hours until the meet. We make it through that and I will personally approve you two days leave. You can chose the spot.”

“Holding you to that promise. Nature’s call, sir, eyes off.”

“Roger that, Hawkeye.” Jasper trained his binoculars to the area they were watching. 

Clint took care of business with as quickly as possible before stowing the used bottle and resuming position. Jasper and he took turns trading stories until notification came in that the players were on the way. 

The really shitty thing about a meet out in the open was that it was _out in the open_. Ingress and egress was basically drive in/drive out unless you wanted to risk a bullet through the top of the head from the sniper stashed in the helicopter or plane one of the players used to arrive. Granted, there was probably a sniper on site anyway and Clint had just spent the last five hours searching the sun scorched terrain looking for theirs. Neither he, nor Jasper, had seen anyone and obviously heat signature tracking was useless.Their agent was shit out of luck if there was a sniper intent on a hit. All Hawkeye could do was get one back for the team and take out the sniper, wound the meeter and whatever goon was with them.

He looked through his sniper scope as Agent Greenaway got out of the black sedan, tablet in her left hand, followed closely by Agent Bell. They walked to the front of their car to meet the informant who was flanked by his own alternate. The build up of anxious energy was for nothing as the information was downloaded and verified, money transfer confirmed, and both parties went back in the direction they came. The days of wrist chained briefcases were over and Clint felt the world was that much poorer for it, really. Once both cars were out of sight they got the all clear and maintained surveillance for another half hour, in case of wayward snipers. 

“Ok, Hawkeye. Let’s get to civilization.” Jasper saved the AAR he’d been working on. 

“Roger that, sir.” He made quick work of breaking down his hide. “I take it my requisition for the freezer truck transport didn’t go through?” He stowed his rifle, wincing at the amount of sand in cartridge tracks. R&D had been working on an anti-stick top coat for guns. Not that dirt or grit that was new made much of a difference with the actual shot, more that it made the gun difficult to clean and a dirty gun with buildup could cause a hell of a mishap.

Sitwell laughed “That’s a negative, Hawkeye.”

“I’m holding you to that two days off.” he hefted his backpack over his back “I’ll be down in twenty.” 

Twenty, on foot, over rough terrain was followed by two hours in a blissfully air conditioned car that carried them back to the nearest SHIELD base. Clint took advantage of the time to complete his after action and hydrate, throwing in an occasional ‘Are we there yet?’ to Sitwell just to annoy him. Not too many times because the man looked whipped.

“You ok there, Jasper?” Clint looked at the man a little closer. He was pale underneath the smeared sand. 

“Just, tired.” Jasper sighed as he wiped a hand over his eyes.

“Pull over, I’ll drive the rest of the way and you can get some shut eye.” he reached over the back seat to the small cooler and pulled out a Gatorade, handing it over when the car stopped. “Here, drink this too. We’re probably both dehydrated from that little milk run. I’d like you looking less like a ghost when we get to base, we’re probably going to have to stay in medical a while when the blood work comes back.”

They switched sides and Jasper dutifully drank the Gatorade and then switched to sipping a water. By the time they reached the SHIELD office in Salt Lake City he was back to his normal coloring and both of their body temperatures were back down to normal. Sitwell came awake when they were pulling through the security gate and wiped tiredly at his eyes while they parked.

“Medical, then shower and bed for you.” Clint strapped his backpack on his back before taking the bulk of the equipment from Jasper. “I’ll check all this stuff in and hit up medical before I hit my quarters.” He grinned as Jasper gave him a look “Scout’s honor, Jas.” 

“You were never a Boy Scout.”  
“No, but I dated a Scout Leader for a while and boy did I learn about honor.” the grin widened.

Jasper couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. “I don’t want to hear about your escapades, Barton.” they both laughed at that; one of their favorite games was seeing who can make up the best stories.

Clint split off from him as they walked through the front desk check point. He headed towards Tech first to drop off the heaviest of the load, the sensitive computer and surveillance equipment. He followed that up with quick stops to R&D and the weapons master. Since Clint hadn’t used his own equipment he didn’t feel bad about letting the weapons master clean the rifle. He really wanted a shower before he hit up medical but knew that if he even saw his bunk he was going to crash in it. Another hour wasn’t going to make much difference. Hopefully he had drank enough water and Gatorade on the way here that he wouldn’t need to stay for long and Clint knew he needed to give them his hearing aids to check out. The sand from that desert had gotten in pretty much everything and the aids were pretty sensitive to that sort of thing.


	7. Chapter 7

The flight from Utah to NYC was pleasantly uneventful, unless you count the fact that Jasper was still a little dehydrated and the altitude was making him queasy. He’d made sure he was strapped in and had a few sick bags near him before leaning his head back against the seat and drowsing fitfully. They both had some downtime after this to recover. 

The Quinjet landed easily on the Helicarrier, much to Jasper’s relief and Clint watched him walk across the deck to make sure he wasn’t going to pass out. The mother hen routine wasn’t usually his style but Jasper was good people and had gotten him out of a jam more than once in his career with SHIELD. Clint pulled his phone out of his vest as soon as Jasper was out of sight and dialed Coulson’s number smiling as he heard the live version instead of a recording. 

“Clint, hey.”

“Hey yourself. I’m back in town and I’d really like to see you if you’re around.” Clint leaned against the wall, ignoring all the activity going on around him. 

“I am around and I think that could be arranged.” Coulson sounded pleased.

Clint felt a little warmth unfurl in his chest at the tone “I’m not sure my short jaunt to the West qualified me for an Agent Services visit but I am reasonably sure that my off base place isn’t a pig pen. We could pick something up, order in, or I could cook. Askee’s choice.”

“Well, you’re probably tired and not feeling the full extent of it yet. How about we wait until I get there and decide then?”

“That actually sounds like a pretty sane idea. I’m sure I’ll feel more myself after a long shower. I’ve taken two already and I still feel like I have sand in places it really shouldn’t be.”

Coulson laughed and it made Clint smile. “Text me your address and I’ll be there. I need at least a couple of hours to finish up here though.” he warned.

“No problem. I need to get off the carrier and home. Let’s say you get to my place between six and seven?”

“Perfect.” Coulson paused for a minute “Clint, I’m glad you’re back and safe.”

“Me too, Phil. See you soon.” 

“Yep, soon.”

Clint let himself linger on the thought of Coulson being glad he was home for a few minutes before shaking his head at himself and going over to talk to the pilots about getting off this bird. It wasn’t as difficult as it could have been and he left Sitwell a voice message that he was heading home before climbing in the chopper that would drop him on the helipad of the NYC HQ. 

He texted Coulson the address to his 3rd floor walk up in Alphabet City once he was in a cab and got a smiley face back. He huffed out his usual laugh at big, bad Coulson using emoticons. The first time it had happened he had full out laughed. 

He had just spent twenty minutes neglecting his workout to watch the SA work with his trainees in basic hand to hand. He was man enough to admit that he had watched because Coulson looked damn hot in SHIELD sweats and t-shirt. That, and the fact that he was wiping the floor with a brash FBI import while barely breaking a sweat. Clint had been able to read everything the trainee had been about to do and apparently so had Coulson. He hadn’t played with him like Clint would have, jeering him and egging him on; Phil had simply used each attack as a teaching point. So instead of the junior agent being red faced and spluttering mad, the guy was red faced, panting and looking up at Coulson adoringly. Clint’s text to Phil after the demonstration was “Newsflash! Bad ass SA woos new recruits by kicking their teeth in kindly.” 

When his phone had beeped a reply it had consisted only of a wide mouthed smiley and Clint had laughed himself silly for five minutes.

Now, though, Clint was used to the emoticons in texts and dry humor of the other man. He enjoyed each glimpse into Phil that he got. Clint unlocked the door to his apartment and opened it with some trepidation; breathing a sigh of relief when it wasn’t the absolute disaster he had been expecting. While there weren’t any fresh fruit or veggies in sight a quick look in the fridge showed water and his preferred brand of beer. Snagging one, Clint twisted off the top and opened the freezer. He supposed he could make a quick run to the Key Foods around the corner for the standard steak dinner fixings but Phil had wanted to wait. Odessa’s or Angel’s would deliver the same and he wouldn’t have a sink full of dishes.

He took a long swallow of his beer and headed over towards his bathroom to take a shower. Clint took a little longer than he would have on the carrier or on base just because it was his shower. The hot water was blissful; he used his own soap and shampoo and felt a lot cleaner than he had in days. There was just something about being home that made everything better sometimes. Shaved, showered and dressed in jeans and a red henley he grabbed his phone and settled on the couch. He texted a short “OMG, good to be home.” to Coulson and turned on the television, letting the background noise drag him to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Several hours and texts later Coulson had to make a decision. He knew from his own after mission experience that Clint was probably passed out on his couch. Maybe the TV was on and his feet were up on the coffee table; if he even had a coffee table. His head was possibly tilted at an angle he was going to regret when he woke up and there was most likely nothing edible in the house. Phil told himself he wasn’t going to wake him up if he didn’t answer the last text. In fact he told himself that as he changed to casual clothes, again as he hailed a cab outside of HQ, yet again as he stepped out on the curb in front of the building that Clint lived in. Despite all that, he dialed the now familiar phone number.

Clint jerked awake at the sound of the ringtone. God he hated that tone, he really should take the time to find something that didn’t cause his skin to crawl. “Yeah?” he rubbed his long fingers over his eyes.

Coulson winced, “You were asleep; sorry for waking you.” 

“No… no, it’s good.” Clint stretched his neck from side to side. “ I‘m up. Needed to be up.” he stifled a yawn. “So, we still on for dinner?”

“Yeah, absolutely. I’m… close by.”

“Great, great! Are you hungry? I’m starved.” Clint had moved to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

“Very. I’m downstairs.” Phil said a little sheepishly. “Couldn’t decide whether I should wake you up or not.”

Clint walked quickly to the buzzer. “Phil, how long have you been down there? Come in, already.” 

Phil pulled open the door when the buzzer sounded. “I’ll be right up.”

The phone was set on the small shelf by the door as Clint flipped the lock and pulled the door open. His grin widened as Phil rounded the final corner of the stairs, his sharp gaze taking in the blue and white striped button down and loose fitting jeans. 

“You know, you can really rock the casual look just as well as the suit and tie.” Clint closed the door behind them as Phil stepped into the apartment. The small smile Phil gave him was warm. That and the deepening crinkles by his eyes had Clint reaching out almost without thought, his long fingers sliding slowly around Phil’s neck as he stepped into the other mans space. “I’m really glad you decided to wake me up.” He said softly as his lips brushed Phil’s chastely. 

As far as first kisses went it surprised them both. Not that it happened because that was a given with the attraction they had to each other, but more that it was so gentle. Lips touching, caressing, sucking. Leading them into that sluggish, fuzzy headspace where time slowed and everything seemed more intense. When they finally separated it was just to breath and make sure they were still in reality.

Phil chuckled softly “I’m glad too.” His forehead rested on Clint’s, his hands on Clint’s hip.

Clint nuzzled a little, his lips brushing Phil’s again. “I could probably do this all night.” 

When their stomach’s growled in unison they laughed. “Sustenance first. Making out later?” Phil huffed in amusement.

“If we order in we can make out while we wait and while we eat and after we eat and for as long as we want.”

“That’s a deal.” Phil followed Clint into the living room and took the menus that Clint held out to him. “Ok, so…”

“Odessa’s has the widest variety. From breakfast to steak to gyro’s to sandwiches. I like the London Broil with Onions and Mashed. The pork chops are really good. The salads are really fresh.”

Phil looked at the menu in question for a long few minutes. “I think this was on Jasper’s list for takeout. I think I’ll try out the London Broil, with mashed too.”

“Great, I have beer and water in the fridge and I can make coffee or tea.” He stood to go get his phone from where he left it. “Help yourself while I call this in. Bathroom is to the left if you need it.”

Phil didn’t, but he did look around the small apartment to see what the ‘Amazing Hawkeye’ would consider as keepsakes. He’d just got through looking over the small bookcase when a hand curved around his waist and pulled him in. 

“We’ve got about 35 minutes. Wasn’t there something we were going to do while we’re waiting?” Clint nuzzled Phil’s neck breathing deep before spreading small kisses from his ear to the crook of his neck under his open collar. “Why don’t you slip your shoes off and we’ll get comfortable?”

He had tilted his head to offer Clint better access. The height difference between them was negligible so it wasn’t hard for Clint to reach what he was aiming for. At the request Phil turned in Clint’s arms and leaned in to meet his lips while toeing off his shoes. The kiss deepened as Clint steered them backwards toward the couch, then stopped as Clint cursed when he hit his big toe on the leg of the couch.

Phil’s forehead wrinkled then cleared as he saw what happened. “Sit down and I’ll kiss it better.” 

“Why Phil, I didn’t know you had a foot fetish.” Clint grinned, not even flailing when Phil pushed him back onto the couch.

“There’s a lot of my fetishes you don’t know about, Clint.” Phil raised an eyebrow and settled himself between Clint’s legs and leaned down to open his mouth with his own.

The thought of ‘that’s promising’ flitted through Clint’s mind before he lost himself in the warmth of the kiss and the man above him. Both of them groaned when Clint’s hips rolled upwards and pressed against Phil. After that there was nothing hesitant about the touches. Clint had Phil’s shirt untucked and his hands slid against warm skin as he pulled the man more comfortably on top of him. The air caught in Phil’s throat on a gasp as their bodies moved against each other and Clint’s mouth found the curve of his neck again. 

For two skilled agents with excellent time and space awareness they literally jumped when the door buzzed signaling delivery. Two bumped heads and embarrassed snickering later Clint had responded to the door and grabbed his wallet before heading down the stairs to pick up the food. Phil took the time he was gone to go to the bathroom and throw water on his face. His lips curled in satisfaction as he took in his disheveled appearance and the small bruise at the base of his neck. It was going to be a very entertaining evening, to say the least.


	9. Chapter 9

Clint was just locking the door again when Phil came out of the bathroom. He’d adjusted himself in his pants so he was a little more comfortable-- after a squeeze and a rub or two-- but his top three buttons were still open showing off his chest hair and the mark Clint had made. Clint’s steps slowed as he walked towards the kitchen, his tongue slid over his bottom lip as he took in Phil’s appearance, nostrils flaring a little at the tousled hair and loose shirt tails.

The food was surprisingly good for take out steak but Phil didn’t linger. Conversation wasn’t stilted, it just kept getting driven off course by lingering glances and slow smiles. The awesome thing about take out was the packaging went into the garbage and the silverware in the sink and it was that much sooner that Clint’s long fingers curled through Phil’s belt loops and pulled him in. Phil was more than willing to fit his body against the other mans, his own hand curving over extremely well developed arms. Their mouths met again, Immediately opening for exploration. Clint continued to walk backward leading Phil into his bedroom without incident. 

Light from the kitchen filtered into the room as Clint let go of the belt loops and moved to the buttons on the shirt. His callused hands slid through the coarse chest hair, the ridges and dips of old scars as he pushed the shirt off of Phil’s shoulders and let it fall to the floor before moving to the button and zipper on his pants and making short work of them and the boxer briefs beneath. He took his time looking over the man in front of him. His eyes taking in the sites his hands visited. Clint’s thumbs stroked slowly over Phil’s hip bones letting his gaze lower to the thick penis that was bobbing slightly in the air. 

“Thinking about taking your clothes off any time soon, Clint?” Phil’s voice had deepened and Clint was sure his pupils would be dilated if he could see them better in the dim light. 

“Thought I’d let you take care of that, Phil.” he let his fingers trace through the hair above that delicious looking cock. The edge of his mouth tilting up more with encouragement.

Phil moved a little more into Clint’s space, the tender head of his penis sliding against denim. The intake of air ended on a soft groan as he moved his hips a little more. “That’s if I can get them off.” Phil’s hands tugged the tight shirt up. “Should be illegal how this fits.” he muttered, mouthing at the scruffy curve of Clint’s jaw.

“Gotta show off the guns.” Clint got a little impatient as the tip of Phil’s cock ran through the trail of hair leading down to his own hardness. His fingers flipped the button on his jeans and made short work of the zipper and pushing them off. He’d never made a habit of going commando. You never knew when you were going to be attacked in his line of work and running without boxers was not comfortable.

Phil tossed Clint’s shirt over his shoulder, admiring the tousled hair, broad shoulders, dark nipples and all the rest down to the dark purple boxer briefs that clung so closely to his skin. He didn’t hesitate to push them down off of Clint’s hips and take the shaft in his fist. Smooth hot velvet skin slid over hard sensitive tissue with a couple of quick pulls of his hand and had Clint gasping his name and panting like he was running a race. 

“Whoa there, tiger. You want this to be over before it’s started.” Clint couldn’t help but push into the tightness. It felt so good.

Phil chuckled and pushed him back to the bed. “Never thought you would be one to fire prematurely, _Hawkeye_!”

Clint made an indignant sound and placed his hands on Phil’s biceps switching their positions and pushing them on the bed before Phil could react. He knelt between Phil’s legs and hovered over the erect penis that was leaking at the tip. “Oh, we can make this a competition if you want, _Agent_. But I’d rather savor this for the moment.” Clint lowered his head tongue sweeping over the head like a lollipop.

“Savor away.” Phil hissed at the sensation and made an abortive hip thrust and slid one hand through Clint’s hair and came to rest almost cupping Clint’s jaw. 

Clint’s chuckle sent vibrations of pleasure through Phil’s body as the man sank down and took him in as far as he could. Large hands held Phil’s hips still as he thrust up into that warm heat again. “Careful… I like being used like that but I want to explore you first.”

“Yes.” Phil’s voice was low and needy and his other hand curled in the comforter. 

Clint alternated slow and steady suction with fast and messy strokes of his tongue and hand, driving Phil to moans and incoherent words and finally completion. Pulling off with one final suck of the tip before being yanked up for one of the dirtiest kisses he’d ever had. 

It was full of tongue and mutterings from Phil about how tasting himself in Clint’s mouth was such a fucking turn on. Clint had been rubbing his cock against Phil’s thigh for a few minutes before Phil took him in hand. Grip tight and just right, wet from sweat and precome so he slid right through. The calloused fingers caught on the sweet spot behind his glans and made him hitch his hips even harder. When Phil’s teeth closed on the muscle at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and his fingernails dug into his ass Clint felt the telltale tightening at the base of his spine and with one final thrust into Phil’s hand he came. 

They lay there for long moments, sweat drying slowly on their skin, relaxed and sinking into each other. 

“Should probably get cleaned up.” Phil sighed, not wanting to move. 

“Wipes in drawer.” Clint slurred against his neck. He wasn’t moving far if he could help it.

Phil smiled, brushing his mouth over the sweaty spikes next to his cheek. “Boyscout.”

“SHIELD agent. Those things are magic.” he countered.

Phil reached over to the drawer Clint had half heartedly pointed to and pulled out the box of wipes before cleaning up the worst of the mess. Then, when Clint murmured ‘stay’ into his skin he wrapped his leg around the other man’s ankle and dozed off. The smile stayed on his face until he fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the end of the story. I'm taking it farther but it's going to be a 2, possibly 3 parter with unknown chapters.


End file.
